He slowly walked the slow, winding path towards the crooked, run-down old house. With one slow, hesitant hand he bravely, resolutely knocked on the dusty, pock-marked, ancient and frightening door. Slowly, it opened slowly. He slowly poked his brave head through the narrow, foreboding gap.

Word on all of this. This brings to mind another writing blog I was reading the other day. The author's words, as far as I remember, were 'you are not Tolkien. Put down the pen and step away from the purple prose'.